


You're No One 'Til Someone Lets You Down

by perfectpro



Series: Paradise Valley [2]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-25
Updated: 2015-09-25
Packaged: 2018-04-21 11:24:50
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,883
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4827311
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/perfectpro/pseuds/perfectpro
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>This isn’t how she wanted to leave him, the boy who’s grown on her unexpectedly. She doesn’t know how, exactly, she wanted to leave him, but it wasn’t like this. She at least wants him to know that there was something between them, that it wasn’t a story he created to make himself feel better. She wants him to know that she’s just as stuck on him as he is on her.</p><p>-</p><p>Or, the one where Lydia leaves Beacon Hills and everything that comes with it behind.</p>
            </blockquote>





	You're No One 'Til Someone Lets You Down

**Author's Note:**

> Title comes from John Mayer's song of the same name, which I listen to on repeat regularly.
> 
> It's not necessary to read You Were Never Meant to Feel Alone first, as this is a prequel to that story, but you will find a few Easter eggs to that story in this one and vice versa.

  
_No, I've not seen you this way before_  
_Standing a mess at my door_  
_Well, it took you so long, but you've finally found_  
_You're no one 'til someone lets you down._  
  
\- John Mayer, _You're No One 'Til Someone Lets You Down_  
  


Schools on the east coast start early. Or, not early, perhaps, but certainly earlier than Lydia is used to. Earlier than schools on the west coast do, at least. So she’s the first one of the pack to head out, and even though she’s been trying to ready herself for leaving for the past few months, she wakes up feeling lightheaded on the morning of the pack meeting. Tomorrow, she’ll be on a flight out to Boston, off to MIT to start her dream, but today she has to figure out how to tell her friends goodbye.

For some friend groups this wouldn’t be as big of a deal. There’d be hugs, promises to email and call and have weird Facebook conversations with, but it wouldn’t be like leaving a family behind. That’s what this is, no matter what Lydia tells herself, she’s leaving the people who care the most about her behind, and she’ll be three thousand miles away from the place that she’s taken to calling home.

They’ve fought more supernatural creatures than she cares to count, but saying goodbye seems more daunting than even the Darach had. Especially in a group setting. Individually, it wouldn’t be quite so hard. It would even be better if she wasn’t the first one leaving, if Stiles or Isaac or someone had gone first and set a standard in their wake.

She prepares as best she can, waterproof mascara and heels sensible enough that her calves won’t ache after the rounds of long hugs she’s sure to go through. She even has a small speech prepped for each person, individualized enough that it doesn’t seem like a formatted thing even though it is. It’s just how she handles these things, because winging it would be disastrous and probably end up with her drunk and crying over Allison while clutching at Scott and trying to convince everyone it’s a good idea to do tequila shots when she has a seven am flight. So, really, that wouldn't go well at all.

So she doesn’t like to be surprised, emotionally or otherwise. It’s not a crime.

Derek has volunteered to host what they’re calling a pack meeting. There’s no pack business to attend to, but it’s what they’ve been calling their gatherings for the last two and a half years and they’re not going to stop just because there’s a rare lull in supernatural activity. It’s really a goodbye party, but calling it that would just make Lydia more reluctant about going. As it is already, she’d rather not be attending.

If Allison were here, she’d toss her hair back and smile widely. “It’ll be fun,” she’d say, and she’d tug Lydia inside to talk to the people she’s going to be leaving behind.

If Allison were here, Lydia would probably be even more reluctant to leave. At least when she leaves Beacon Hills, she’ll also be leaving the place where her best friend died. And, well, she really can’t find it in herself to want to stay when memories of Allison, a year and a half old, still feel like fresh wounds.

Nevertheless, she pulls up outside of Derek’s loft a half hour late, feeling rather generous that she’s almost arriving early by her standards. The pack knows her issue with being fashionably late, so they probably haven’t been expecting her.

Her smile readies itself, one of the familiar ones she has stashed in her arsenal that she uses to blind school officials into giving her what she wants when she’s really only using them for information. And then she pauses, changes her expression. This time, it’s more friendly and less unbreakable, closer to the fond grin she gives Scott every time that he acts like a wounded puppy around Stiles to wheedle out of whatever trouble they’ve gotten into with the Sheriff this time. It feels better, more appropriate for the occasion.

Liam swings the door open, clearly having smelled her arrival. That will probably never stop being creepy to her, even if she has come to accept it. He yells something inside, probably announcing her to the human guests who aren’t blessed with enhanced sensory experience.

Lydia suspects that she’s never going to be envious of a werewolf’s nose, if only because they’re all teenagers and some of them have got to have some serious body odor issues going on. It’s with that that she collects her purse and her thoughts, climbing out of her Prius and waving at him as she does so. “Sorry, I’m late,” she calls, smirking to herself because she knows he can probably hear the lie.

“Liar!” someone shouts from inside, probably Scott or Isaac, but she’s not sure at the moment.

Making eye contact with Liam, she shrugs aimlessly, that smirk getting replaced with the smile she’d approved earlier. She starts up the stairs and accepts the hug that he gives to her, looking around when he’s let her go. Cora and Scott are on the couch, Isaac sitting between Cora’s legs and the coffee table, where he’s playing a card game across from Malia. Kira can be heard from the kitchen with Derek, and Stiles is walking in from the kitchen with a bottle of vodka and a shit eating grin that shouldn’t make her heart do summersaults.

Leaving town is going to be so good for her, if only because it means having the time to get over Stiles Stilinski.

“Looks like the gang’s all here,” Cora drawls, reaching forward and running her fingers through Isaac’s hair. “Kira, Derek, time to stop being recluses and come in here with the rest of us.”

Kira peaks out from behind the wall, the shy smile growing when she sees Lydia standing by the doorway. “Okay, we’re coming,” she concedes, stepping out. In her hands is a homemade cake, sticky with chocolate icing and the words _Future MIT Valedictorian_ scrawled on top in green, the letters just barely running together.

The sight almost makes Lydia choke up, but what really does it is when Derek walks out from behind her, holding a platter of cupcakes with different equations scrawled on each. “You guys,” she says, voice already hoarse and the party hasn’t even started yet. “That’s so sweet.” Because while any girl would be flattered that her friends made her favorite cake, the cake her mother got her had been vanilla, with _Good Luck!_ in the handwriting of whoever had been on decoration duty that day at the bakery, and she's a little overcome with how well they know her.

“Thought it was appropriate,” Scott tells her, stretching over to give Isaac a hint to what cards he should lay down next, apparently forgetting that Malia is a were-coyote and can hear his lowered voice perfectly.

“I picked out the equations,” Stiles chimes in proudly, walking over to her and throwing an arm over her shoulder. “I figured you deserved for them to be right, at least.”

Tossing her hair over her shoulder, she brightens her eyes and tries to regain some of her composure. “In ten years, I’ll have an equation of my own,” she predicts, picking up Gauss’s law and trying to forget how many calories must be packed into such a small dessert. She’ll just have to make good use of MIT’s recreation center, she reasons, peeling off the wrapper and taking a bite.

That starts it, everyone else diving in for a slice of cake or a cupcake at that point. Stiles tries to push the vodka at her, but every nerve in her body is screaming that it’s a bad idea, she doesn’t need to be drunk around him right now or ever, and she turns it down with a dismissive smile that’s probably a shade too condescending.

She’s out of practice at playing with people’s emotions, but she’s sure she’ll get the hang of it again soon.

Her lipstick is actually a lipstain, one designed to stay on for twelve hours without smudging. It inevitably means that she’ll have to claw it off in the morning, but it means she’ll be able to kiss everyone’s cheek and not leave a print behind. That’s more important, at this point. So she doesn’t worry about using a napkin to wipe off the errant icing that winds up on her lower lip, the napkin returning with only a slight chocolate smudge.

Isaac and Malia have been playing poker, which Lydia doesn’t think of as a two person game, but when they finish the next round everyone gets dealt in. Even Derek, as he stands over them and tries to act like he’s too good to join in. Secretly, Lydia figures, he must be pleased, because he does admit defeat and accepts his cards in the end. Pleased that they’re inviting him, pleased that it’s a genuine offer.

Pleased that they’re all alive and well enough to be going off to school, probably. Pleased that a ragtag group of misfit high school students managed to kick enough supernatural ass to be looking forward to the future when they don’t have to fear for their lives quite so often.

Asking Derek turns out to be a mistake, because he wins three games in a row and Cora and Malia win the next two. Poker with werewolves isn’t any fun, but especially not with two born werewolves, one born were-coyote, and three bitten wolves. Lydia, Kira, and Stiles end up staring at each other humorlessly with each new hand.

Three or four hours later, the cake is gone and only a few cupcakes remain. Newton’s second law and Maxwell’s equations are among the leftovers, and Lydia is only too happy to bite into force equals mass times acceleration, waving her Wii controller in the air as Princess Daisy drives over the finish line. “First place, bitches,” she gloats, dabbing the chocolate crumbs from the corner of her lip.

It doesn’t matter that she’s playing against Isaac, Scott, and Stiles. Strangely enough, no one beats her when it comes to Rainbow Road.

With that, Stiles tosses his remote onto the couch, swearing under his breath. “Fucking rigged, Derek, your Wii is a piece of shit,” he curses, sticking his tongue out at her while she finishes her victory dance.

It almost makes her heart stop, but Lydia manages to contain the strange spike of arousal that hits her at the sight. At least, she assumes that it’s been contained, because Scott isn’t staring at her like she’s grown a third head or something else that he would do if he thought there was any way she was attracted to Stiles.

Kira checks her watch and sighs, explains that she has to go meet her mother for something. So she’s the first goodbye of the night, waving to everyone else and hugging Lydia close. “You’re going to have the best time, I just know it. MIT won’t know what hit it. Are you coming home for Christmas?”

It must be Lydia’s imagination, but Stiles stops his monologue of swear words to listen in. “No, I’m spending Christmas with my dad. My mom’s flying out for Thanksgiving, but I’ll find out about spring break, maybe. I’ll call.”

Nodding, Kira pulls her close again and smiles. “Good. Bye, Lydia,” she says, waving again to everyone else before heading out, her jacket slung over her shoulder as she gives them one last look.

With Kira gone, the rest of the goodbyes start. Liam next, giving her a tight hug and a goodbye, his words genuine when he tells her that he’s going to miss her. That’s when she tears up, but she doesn’t let the tears fall just yet, there are worse things to come. She’s proven right when Malia stands in front of her, arms rigid and eyes soft, saying that she never would have learned how to do algebra without her, even cracks a few jokes about going to college and letting her know when she finds what x is really equal to.

Cora has to leave for some unspecified reason, and even though they’ve never been close, she still pulls Lydia in and rests her head on her shoulder. “If you need anything, I’m always here.” It’s oddly touching, and Lydia promises that she’ll call when she needs to.

That leaves her, Derek, Isaac, Scott, and Stiles. And since Derek and Isaac live here, it’s an obvious thing to say goodbye to them next, but it feels strange to have Derek Hale hugging her. It would probably be a more familiar feeling to Stiles, who at least could have identified it as something akin to be shoved against a wall. She promises him, too, that she’ll call when she needs too, believing that she actually will.

Isaac drags her in for a hug and doesn’t say anything, and that alone makes her almost start crying. For some reason, she and Isaac have formed a friendship that they haven’t been able to define. Ever since Allison’s death, they’d drawn together and latched onto one another. He lets her go, finally, but not before kissing her cheek.

She kisses his cheek in return, fully aware of the questioning glances that must be going off around them.

As they walk out to their cars, Lydia shuts her eyes. These are going to be the hardest goodbyes, she knows it.

She’s right, of course, because Scott makes her cry before he even says anything. It’s a new record, but Liam and Isaac contributed so he doesn’t quite get to claim it all just yet. “I know you think you can take care of yourself, and you probably think that you don’t need anyone. You can definitely take care of yourself, and maybe you don’t need anyone, but we need you. You’re going to stay in touch, okay?” he asks her, thumbing her tears from her face.

“Of course,” she tells him, because it’s true. She can’t imagine leaving Scott behind, or Stiles, or any of them. They’re her pack, they’re her family, and she’s not going to let a little distance change any of that. “We’ll have Skype dates, just tell me when. Plus, who else is going to let me live vicariously through their freshman lit class?”

He rolls his eyes and lets her go. “Love you, Lyds,” he says fondly, stepping aside as Stiles comes up.

Stiles is standing before her, awkward as ever, hands shoved in the pockets of the red hoodie that’s practically falling apart at this point. Her breath hitches, and for a moment she panics, wonders if Scott could know, and then decides that it doesn’t matter. 

He doesn’t hug her, not yet, just smiles and says, “We solved a lot of mysteries.”

“We did,” she allows, wondering whether she should move to hug him or if he should move to hug her. For everyone else, it came naturally, but now she’s overthinking everything and it’s going all wrong. “Made it out alive,” she tries, but the joke falls flat because now they’re left remembering the ones who didn’t.

Attempting a smile, he nods. “I’m going to miss you,” he says, and then he goes in for the hug.

It’s awkward and lingering and probably the most uncomfortable embrace they’ve ever been in, because she doesn’t think they’ve ever really hugged except in thank-God-we-didn’t-die situations. Her starting college doesn’t really seem like it falls under that category.

“Miss you, too,” she mumbles, wishing that it felt more natural.

This isn’t how she wanted to leave him, the boy who’s grown on her unexpectedly. She doesn’t know how, exactly, she wanted to leave him, but it wasn’t like this. She at least wants him to know that there was something between them, that it wasn’t a story he created to make himself feel better. She wants him to know that she’s just as stuck on him as he is on her. And so, when Scott has pulled out of the driveway and Stiles is opening the door to the Jeep, she calls out, “Stiles, I love you.”

She’s never been able to admit it to herself, but it’s true. And she doesn’t know how long she’s loved him for, only that she does, and she wants him to know before she leaves because it seems important, that he knows. It seems important that she tells him. And if he doesn’t do anything about it, that’s fine. Just as long as he knows, she’s put it out there. She’s putting herself out there, and he should be able to appreciate that.

He freezes, looks at her incredulously. And then he nods, slowly, with control. “Yeah. Love you, too,” he breathes, giving her an uncomfortable smile before driving off, having completely misunderstood her.

-x-

That night, standing in front of her mirror in pajamas, she tries to think of how she should be feeling. Probably nostalgic and excited or some balance between the two, but the only emotion she can conjure is fear. Maybe some sadness, that would explain the lump in the back of her throat. She’s just thankful that she won’t have to feel like this for long, because she’s headed out come morning, leaving on a jet plane and all that jazz.

As she thinks about making sure her ticket is stowed away in the front pocket of her bag, there’s a familiar sound from outside. The sound of Stiles’s Jeep, which isn’t a usual sound for outside of her house at one in the morning on a weekday. Her purse forgotten, she tiptoes to her window, thankful for once that her room faces the street.

Sure enough, Roscoe is outside of her house in all of the junked up glory that Stiles loves about the car. At this point, even Lydia is a little fond of it. She thinks it’d be hard not to be, considering how many sticky situations it’s been their getaway car for. Stiles is sitting in the driver’s seat, and while he’s too far away for her to make out the expression on his face, the line of tension in his shoulders is unmistakable. 

The light in her room is out, so he probably can’t see her, he might be able to see the reflection of the street light from the house across the street. Even so, she ducks down low and tries to keep out of sight.

Stiles doesn’t just show up outside of her house unless it’s an emergency of the supernatural kind, at least that’s the way it’s been in her experience. This feels different, though, because those times he always called beforehand, a terse “on my way” the only warning he’d give her before they were on the road, him explaining what had gone bass-ackwards this time while they drove to the scene of the shitshow.

From what she’s remembering, they don’t have any supernatural horrors at the moment. Not that those give much warning, but a girl can hope. That’s not what it looks like either, because Stiles is looking determinedly in front of the steering wheel, finally turning the car off. And he sits like that, completely still, for a long time. Long enough to the point where Lydia gets bored of watching, goes off to braid her hair and comes back, and he’s still sitting in the same place he was when she left.

She’s curious, she can’t help it. And nervous, because it strikes her suddenly that the boy she’s in love with is sitting in his car outside her house the night before she’s leaving. It’s a very rom-com moment, ready for Stiles to call her and her to invite him inside, and they’ll have a night together before they leave.

Her heart flutters, and then clenches, and then Lydia left staring at him and wondering whether or not she wants him to be here. And then she makes her decision, which isn’t really a decision at all.

Stiles is here. Stiles is outside her house, and he obviously came here for a reason. If he wants it to happen, he’ll call her. Or come up and ring the doorbell, or throw rocks at her window, or something. He’ll do something, that’s the point. And if he does, she’ll let him inside and things will progress from there. And if he doesn’t, then that’s her choice, too. She’s not going to waste her time pining after someone who doesn’t want her enough to try.

A thousand different scenarios play out in her head, and in all of the best ones, she’s leaning against the doorframe with a cat got the canary smirk, reaching out for him with one hand and flipping the lock behind them with the other. “I wondered how long you were going to make me wait,” she says, head tilted to her best side.

“Too long,” Stiles responds in her thoughts, and that’s how it starts.

Or maybe, maybe he’ll pull the eighties movie stunt. They have a garden in the front yard, and the landscaping around the rose bushes is done with pebbles. She imagines him picking up a choice few, weighing them to make sure they balance right, and then he’ll throw a few at her window. And when she opens her window, after enough time has passed to make it seem like he woke her up, she’ll lean out and say, “What are you doing?”

“Waiting for you,” comes the answer, and that’s how it starts.

He’ll call or he’ll text, and she’ll give him an out and he won’t take it. He’s determined, he’s ready, and he’s not going to let her get away this time. That’s how it starts, with him climbing the tree that runs near her window, or with a boom box over his shoulder playing a ballad that she knows all the words to.

She really needs to lay off the John Cusack movies. 

When she looks at the clock, it’s been nearly thirty minutes since he’s been here. And he’s still in the Jeep, staring straight ahead, completely motionless. It’s a little unnerving, him being so still. Typically, Stiles can’t stop moving, always bouncing on his feet or waving his hand, or something. He doesn’t stay in one place for long, and the fact that he’s been in the same position for almost half an hour makes her wonder if he drove here in his sleep.

As soon as she thinks that, the door of the Jeep suddenly swings open. Lydia tenses, unsure of whether she should be by the front door or stay by her window. She doesn’t need to wait for long, though, because Stiles is starting down the walkway to their front door.

Rushing, and thankful that she had the presence of mind to put a bra on under her pajama top, she races out of her room and stands at the top of the stairs, where she’ll be able to see him and he won’t be able to see her. It makes her feel slightly more in control, which is helpful when her heart feels like it’s about to beat straight out of her chest. She even holds her breath as he approaches, anticipating how it’s all going to play out.

“Why’d you make me wait so long?” she’ll ask, eyebrows drawn and a coy expression.

And when he can’t come up with an answer, she’ll pull him inside and tell him that it doesn’t matter, she’s just glad he showed up.

That feels too clean, too in character. There will be something choppy in the conversation that she won’t be able to predict, and her skin flushes pleasurably at the thought of not knowing what’s going to come next. Because this is the boy she’s in love with, the boy who’s in love with her, and she can’t know his every move.

Every other boy she’s met, Lydia has always been three steps ahead and she likes it that way. Stiles keeps pace with her, though, and it’s strangely refreshing, a much needed break. 

As he comes into view, illuminated by the porch lights that are activated by motion sensors, the looks on his face catches her off guard. He’s determined, and it’s beautiful, to know that he wants her like that. To know that she’s the reason he’s outside her house at one in the morning, waiting for his last chance before she leaves. When she tells people how she and her boyfriend got together, she’s going to have the absolute best story.

Stiles raises his hand to knock, Lydia clutches at the railing of the stairs as she waits for the sound, but nothing comes. His hand, as though controlled by an unseen being, comes to a screeching halt. It’s an inch from the door, an inch from summoning her to the rest of their life together, but not quite. Not quite.

She traces back over her scenarios, wonders if she has a solution for this, but nothing comes. And she decided that she was going to let him make the decision and she’d decide based off that, but this too painful. To be so close and yet so far away. Tightening her hold on the railing, she forces all of the hope inside of her to the front of her mind. _Knock, please, just knock. Knock and I’ll come running, knock and prove that we belong together, knock and know that I want you. Knock and you love me, knock and I love you._

Instead, his hand falls back at his side. He doesn’t like determined anymore, just haunted and resigned.

Her hope falls flat. It’s a crescendo of build that comes to nothing, utterly disappointing in the way she’d held out for it for so long. If this was a song she played on the piano, she’d throw away the sheet music because it sounded so terrible. It doesn’t feel much better.

Loosening her grip, she sits at the top of the stairs and just looks at him. Not in a way that’s hopeful or upset, just watches him and tries to figure out what this means. Her heart has stopped beating in triple time, slowed to its normal rate as she comes to terms with the fact that she’s going to spend her freshman year of college trying to forget about the one who got away.

No, he doesn’t look resigned. Not even haunted. He doesn’t look like anything really, if that’s possible, standing and staring utterly expressionless at the door where their love story would have started.

The house is suddenly a thousand degrees too cold, and Lydia wishes she had a jacket or a lighter, anything to make this feeling go away. Anything to forget about the fact that he doesn’t want her enough to risk it, to forget about the fact that they’ll never get together.

He walks away, and Lydia rests her head against the wall. She’s a little too lightheaded to make her way back to her room just yet, and so she waits for the sound of the Jeep. Maybe that will convince her it hasn’t just been a dream, but five minutes pass and the Jeep doesn’t start. Wearily, she walks to her bedroom and stands far enough back to see Stiles standing in front of the engine before slamming the hood shut and picking up his phone.

Creeping up to the window, she learns that she can just barely make out what he’s saying to presumably Scott, because she can’t think of who else he would call at a time like this. 

“I need a jump, I know it’s late, but this cannot wait. You gotta get here now,” he pleads.

There’s silence, and Lydia doesn’t even breathe, she’s so worried about not being able to hear what comes next.

He runs a hand through his hair in frustration and faces the street. “I’m at Lydia’s house.”

She has cables in her car, her car that is backed in and is in the perfect position to jump Stiles’s Jeep. There’s no way she’s going outside, though.

More silence, waiting on Scott (maybe Derek?) to reply, and then, “Nothing happened. Nothing happened, I’m just an idiot who needs a jump at,” he pauses, checking his watch, “two in the morning, oh my God, it’s two in the morning. Please, just get here soon. God, I’ll call Derek if you don’t want to come, but please don’t make me.”

Scott, then, not Derek. Makes sense, asking someone to come pick you up from the house of the girl you’ve had a crush on since you were ten is a job for a best friend. If it were her in that situation, she doesn’t know who she’d call. Allison is dead, and she’s the only best friend Lydia’s ever had. She’d probably call Scott and ask him to come out of goodwill, or she’d call Isaac and blackmail him into picking her up.

If it were her in that situation, she would have knocked, but that’s an exercise in futility. 

As Stiles hangs up, she thinks about going to bed. He’s not coming, not tonight, not ever. That thought shouldn’t feel quite as depressing as it does, but something keeps her awake and watching, until Scott pulls up next to the Jeep and gets out, pulling his best friend in for a hug before grabbing the cables from the trunk.

The fault in her plan to stay awake strikes her quite suddenly, as she remembers that Scott McCall is an Alpha and can probably hear her heartbeat. He’ll know she’s awake, and it’s with that thought that she takes the smallest step towards the window and meets Scott’s eyes.

He freezes, eyes locked on her as he responds to something Stiles has said, and she thanks God that Stiles was facing him to see it. Swallowing, she shakes her head the tiniest amount. If he tells Stiles, this whole thing is going to get shot to Hell. Not that it wasn’t already, but her point still stands, because then it will become exponentially worse and Stiles will probably never speak to her again.

His mouth draws into a line, and then he nods. And then, as though nothing has happened, he turns to Stiles and they start the Jeep, and they’re both gone before she can think to be thankful.

-x-

She and her mother make wonderful time to the airport, and Natalie Martin hugs her daughter tightly before letting her start to security. “Text me before you take off and as soon as you touch down.”

It’s not the first time that Lydia’s been flying on her own, but she supposes that all mothers are allowed to be just a bit clingier when they send their daughters off to college. With a smile, she checks her ticket in the front of her bag and glances meaningfully at the clock on the nearby wall. “I will, I promise. I’ll FaceTime you in my dorm, and you can help me decide where to put my posters. I got the confirmation email this morning, all of my stuff made it.”

Brushing her hair back, the older strawberry blonde nods. “Okay then. Have a safe trip. I love you.”

The words catch in her throat, but Lydia manages to get them out anyway. “I love you, too. I’ll call you in Boston,” she promises, waving as she tugs her rolling suitcase behind her and gets in line for security.

The wait for her flight isn’t exactly long, and before she knows it, she’s seated and listening to the pilot describe the expected conditions they’ll be experiencing in the next few hours. No turbulence, everything looks perfect, and it’s with that assurance she takes out her earbuds and tries to relax.

Her thoughts keep betraying her, and every time she closes her eyes, Stiles’s expressionless face from in front of her door comes to mind. And that’s when she makes her decision, even though he’d made most of it for her last night.

She’s not going to spend her freshman year pining over a boy who didn’t love her, who only thought that he did. No, because she’s Lydia Martin and she’s better than that. She deserves someone at her door who will go through with it, who would have at least seen the fact that his car didn’t start as a sign, who would have called her down and made her wonder about how bad going to Berkley would be.

She’s Lydia Martin and she deserves a boy who isn’t afraid to call her at two in the morning because she might not pick up. She deserves someone who’s willing to put everything on the line for her, who doesn’t see the chance he’ll be taking as a bad thing.

Lips pursed, she decides that she’s not going to need freshman year to get over him. She’s going to take this flight to get over him, this entire flight, and that’s going to be the end of it. She’ll watch the sappy in-flight movie that will inevitably play, and she’ll dab at her eyes with the tissues stored at the bottom of her bag. Maybe she’ll even order some chocolate dessert from a flight attendant if she needs to, if she feels like it’s really going to take that much. One flight, five and a half hours, and that’s all she’s going to give herself.

When she gets off the plane, her eyes will be dry and she’ll be more concerned with how she’s going to get to her Calculus II professor’s office hours when they interfere with her Chemistry I class on Mondays. She’ll be focused on how she’s going to set up her room and adjust to having a roommate, and she might even come up with a plan to make sure that they’re going to be friends.

Whatever she’ll be thinking about, it won’t be Stiles. She won’t think about Stiles and his whiskey eyes that shine, or his stupid moles that look adorable, or how he wrings his hands when he’s nervous. And she definitely won’t concern herself with the fact that there are over three thousand freshman girls who will be at Berkley this year, over half of the incoming class, and not all of them can be ugly. 

No, all of that will be forgotten. When she gets off the plane, the only thing that will come to mind when the name Stiles Stilinski is mentioned is that he’s her friend. Not that she’s liked him for months, not that he fucked up his last chance with her the night before she set off to start a new life, and not that she’s in love with him.

She has a plane ride, a whole plane ride, to get over him and the stupid smirk that he gives her on the rare occasion he’s right when they argue. Five and a half hours and she’ll be over him.

It should be more than enough.

**Author's Note:**

> I couldn't get it out of my head, how Lydia must have felt that night, watching and waiting for him to finalize everything between them. And then, listening to Paradise Valley and all the wonderful music that is John Mayer, this song came on and the first lines basically forced me to write.


End file.
